


time to realize

by Bether



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Angst, Banter, Episode Re-Write, Episode: s01e06 The Naked Time, F/M, Flirting, Hopeful Ending, Minor Canonical Character(s), Not Beta Read, One Shot, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Post-Canon, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bether/pseuds/Bether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or, five times Jim Kirk (belatedly) realized something (somewhat obvious) about Janice Rand and one time she proved what he'd always known</p>
            </blockquote>





	time to realize

**Author's Note:**

> Janice's age is based on the age difference between the TOS actors. Various minor characters mentioned (Ruth, Lemli, Wilson) are all from TOS canon. One section is an AOS update of the TOS episode _The Naked Time_, though it's pretty vague in alluding to specifics. Also, references to Federation policy and politics is mostly conjecture on my part, although I did research timing, ranks and things of that nature. Thanks for reading!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/Paramount/Gene Roddenberry. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**i. the time he realized she was really only human**

The first things Jim Kirk had learned about the yeoman Starfleet had _insisted_ on assigning him (after her name, Janice Rand) was that she was always, _always_ on time. Seriously, always without fail. It was one of the many things he both loved and loathed about working with her. (Because if _she_ was going to be on time, then _he_ needed to be on time as they'd learned when she'd showed up to his quarters promptly at oh-eight-hundred one morning only to find him mid-coitus—her word, not his—with one of the civilians they were transporting to the Alpha Centuri system.)

(Although, he had to admit that it was kind of awesome how she'd flushed and stammered because Janice was nothing if not poised and collected. And the strangled noise she'd let out was—_something_. Jim wasn't quite sure what that something was, but he decided he wouldn't mind if she made it again sometime in the future. Under different circumstances. Maybe. Or he wouldn't have minded if she weren't his yeoman but she was, so there they were.)

This meant that when she failed to appear promptly at oh-nine-hundred on the morning she'd scheduled them to begin drafting letters to the Vulcan High Council inviting a contingent to visit the _Enterprise _upon their arrival at the new Vulcan colony, Jim was understandably worried. They were already five months into the five year mission and she'd never once failed to make an on-time appearance. Not without sending some sort of message, anyway, be it over the comm or via another yeoman.

Jim didn't waste time worrying, though; he was a man of action, so he acted. (Something Bones loved to chide him for, especially after away missions.) Heading from his ready room, he instructed the computer to tell him where Janice was (her quarters on Deck 12, the _Enterprise_ informed him in her pleasantly melodic tone) and proceeded down there in record time. He didn't bother with the door chime, assuming that whatever had prevented Janice from contacting him would also stop her from answering it; instead, he used the security override code to essentially barge into the room she shared with anther enlisted crewman.

The sight of a familiar if rather standard sitting area greeted him and it was empty. Jim took a sharp left into her (admittedly small) personal sleep area. Inside he found was something much less standard, something he had definitely _not_ been expecting. Janice Rand was curled in the center of her bed buried under more than one non-regulation blanket, surrounded by piles of used tissues. At least, he assumed t was her—the only part of her he could see was a shock of blonde hair spread messily over her pillow, poking out from the heap. The sight left him visibly taken aback (and maybe a little uncomfortable).

When she rolled toward him (he hadn't exactly been quiet as he stomped inside), her face flushed brightly. "Captain!" she gasped, scuttling out of bed in an awkward jumble of limbs and blankets, tissues scattering and spilling to the floor as she moved. (Well, that was what Jim figured Janice meant to say. It came out more like, "Gab-din!" and was followed quickly by a cough and two consecutive sneezes that required her to fuss with even _more _tissues as she went.)

Jim, still stunned, took in the sight of his yeoman with a mixture of awe and concern. He'd never seen her look so out of it—or in such casual dress. (In lieu of the standard red skirted uniform she most often wore was an oversized dark blue sports jersey of some sort that fell to mid-thigh… not that he'd noticed or otherwise checked her out. Really. Honestly, he didn't have the time because—) He was in motion again when he saw her begin to sway where she stood, rushing forward to steady her before she stumbled. "At ease, Yeoman," he told her, helping her to sit back down on the bed.

Her gaze was oddly unfocused as Jim inspected her with visible concern. He kept one hand on her shoulder to make sure she kept steady, his thumb absently rubbing against the collar of her jersey (and the soft skin beneath it, which he also wasn't noticing). "Jay… you look like crap. Tell me you've at least commed sickbay?"

"Gab-din, you're so jar-min'," she bit back, rolling her eyes. (He assumed she meant "charming" and smiled winningly in response to her sarcastic claim.) "Amd, no, I haben't. I was sleebin'." That was punctuated with a pointed Look he suspected was meant to chastise him for breaking into her quarters.

Jim pretended to be oblivious, frowning absently as he studied her. "Well you're awake now, so I'm going to need for you to either pull it together and hobble down there or let me call in someone to make a house call." Hm, were they called house calls on starships? He didn't know. (Or care all that much.)

"Id's jubst influenza," Janice argued after a small coughing fit, clearly exasperated. (Although he wasn't sure if it was with him or the bug in her system—probably both, knowing her.)

"Uh-huh." Jim gave her shoulders a squeeze before moving to the wall comm. "I'm just going to let someone with actual medical credentials confirm that."

She huffed but didn't object (aloud) again. His conversation with Sickbay didn't take too long—after the requisite banter with Bones, of course. (Apparently the good doctor felt it necessary to order him a hypo with immune boosters for his trouble—something about Jim being a medical disaster waiting to happen.) Once _that_ was done, he turned back to find Janice bent to the side, dozing.

It amused him, how innocent she looked sleeping when he more regularly saw her staring him down and/or putting him in his place. (Mostly only when he probably deserved it.) He didn't like the way her body was bent over at a funny angle, though; it couldn't be comfortable. Without giving any real thought to propriety (why start now?), he pulled her close and shifted her into a less convoluted laying position in the center of her bed. She leaned into him, muttering something indecipherable into his chest. (Not that he minded—much. Although she did leave a bit of _something_ that was probably contagious on his shirt and he made a mental note to change before returning to the bridge lest he play Typhoid Mary to his crew.)

Jim used the previous abandoned blankets to tuck her in, then cleaned up a little bit for her. (She was forever doing that for him, seemed only fair to return the favor.) And, just as he was starting to feel a little creepy for being in his yeoman's quarters while she was asleep, the door chime announced the arrival of Nurse Chapel. He tried not to appear too relieved, even though he was. (It was one of his least favorite things, being stuck in situations where he couldn't help his crew members.) Plus, he had that whole running a starship thing to take care of.

(Although he _did_ pop back down to check on her later in the day. Just to make sure she was feeling better… and to bring her some soup from the mess. When he was young, he'd been given soup whenever ill. He wasn't sure it'd actually helped but it certainly hadn't _hurt_ any.)****

 

**ii. the time he realized she was a woman**

Ever since it'd been announced, Jim Kirk had been looking forward to Admiral Archer's retirement ball. (Mostly for the few days shore leave on Earth it allowed his crew than the party itself but still.) He was less excited about the dress code requiring him to wear his dress uniform (the neck was too tight and it was hardly the most flattering thing he owned) but Janice pressed it neatly for him and left it hanging in his closet, so he knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. At least he'd managed to line up a hot date for the night. (Not a challenge, really, since he was the famous Captain James T. Kirk: planetary savior, hero and all-around good guy.)

Getting an invite to the affair was apparently a big deal for lower ranking officers and Jim heard more than one crewman bartering for a ticket in the weeks leading up to it. (This was, naturally, lost on Bones who complained for days that the whole thing was a lot of pomp and circumstance for a great man who'd never want any of it, and that—"No, I refuse to wear that terrible dress uniform, Jim! I don't care what you say, damn it! I'm a doctor, not an invalid; I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself!" Of course, he ended up attending in his dress blues muttering about bossy nurses commandeering his closet. Another of the many reasons Chapel was and always would be his favorite nurse.)

Jim sat patiently through dinner and even more patiently through the speeches—more than one mentioning Scotty's loss of Archer's prized beagle and the dog's surprising return, which had allowed the engineer to attend without his (metaphoric) tail between his legs—which somehow managed to carry on past all six courses. It helped that they were constantly being plied with liquor and the good stuff at that, though he knew better than to drink _too _much. This wasn't him and Bones hitting the town, after all. (And even that probably wouldn't be quite the same now that he was a starship captain.)

Then there was the dancing and mingling portion of the evening. Jim didn't have any special love for formal dances himself but his date tittered excitedly when he offered to spin her around the room, so he figured what the hell? (Sure, he'd known even before picking her up he was in but it never hurt to grease the wheels a little.) Besides, it was worth seeing Bones scowl pointedly as he ignored every attempt by ladies to get him to spin _them_ around the dance floor the way his good captain was. He loved pissing the old man off.

In between dances, Jim made his rounds. He shook hands and smiled and schmoozed because he respected Admiral Archer too much to be anything less than his _most_ charming. His date stood mostly as a glorified arm ornament but, honestly, that seemed the role for the majority of the significant others he was introduced to. (There were, of course, exceptions to this rule but most, he figured, simply didn't care to discuss the intricacies of warp technology or Federation politics or what have you.) In the end he just shrugged it off as another of the many unspoken Starfleet standards they left out of the pamphlets.

He was just heading off from a _particularly_ boring conversation between himself and another starship captain several years his senior under the guise of getting refreshments when he bumped into a pretty blonde near the edge of the dance floor. Her gaze had been pointed away from him and it wasn't until she turned to him in surprise, an apology already on her lips, that he realized she was his yeoman. Because this woman standing before him—she was _not_ the Janice Rand he saw for hours on a daily basis.

For one thing, she'd traded the painfully neat regulation bun she _always_ wore on duty for loose waves that fell below her shoulders. For another, she looked, well, like a _woman_. (Okay, so he _knew_ she was a woman on an intellectual level but the soft curls framing face somehow emphasized that fact—and her big brown eyes, which were wide with surprise.) There wasn't too much more make-up on her face than she wore on a daily basis but it must've accented the right things or something because she was nothing short of _stunning_.

Which said nothing of her outfit and that was _also _out of this world. Sure, she opted more often than not for the dress option available to Starfleet officers but there had to be some kind of desensitizing nature to seeing that much leg on a daily basis because she managed to be sexier in a full length gown that hugged her slim figure than she ever had in that short thing. Not to mention the silver gown was somehow both tasteful _and_ sinful in the front with a back cut low enough for him to see a mole he'd never known she possessed.

Sufficed to say Jim Kirk's mouth went entirely dry upon seeing her and he came up with exactly nothing to say to Janice after she'd apologized quickly and succinctly. She looked at him a bit oddly and then started to move away. It was his hand on her arm that stopped her. (He wasn't quite sure how that happened.) "Want to dance?" (Or that.) It was out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying—or remembered that he was meant to be doing something else right then, not that he'd been especially motivated to complete his task before running into his yeoman.

Janice cast a dubious look at the dance floor and then turned back to him. "I'm not sure that would be entirely appropriate, sir," she told him in her well practiced 'I'm not going to pander to you right now' voice.

Generally he would make a show of sulking for a little bit but let her have her way. This time, however, there was something in the way she spoke that made Jim suspicious. "You can't dance?" It was a guess but, in the time he'd known her, he liked to think he'd managed to pick up a thing or two about her. (It was only fair given how much _she_ knew about _him_.)

"Let's just say it's been a while," Janice replied with a shrug, though there was a faint pink visible beneath the thin layer of make-up she wore. "And you _are_ still my commanding officer, Captain."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm well aware, Yeoman." His tone was equally formal but his expression fell into one of the pouts he knew she had a difficult time refusing. "Come on, it's just one dance. I know you didn't put on that dress just to sit on the sidelines all night."

Her face was positively flaming now and Janice looked like she couldn't decide if she wanted to yell at him or turn tail and run. "What makes you think I've been sitting on the sidelines all night?" she asked hotly, apparently deciding on the former. "Or do you think you're the only man in this overcrowded room willing to ask me to dance?"

There was a feeling in his stomach Jim didn't care to identify that was swallowed quickly as Jim put on his most winning smile. "I'm sure you've been fending them off all night, Jay," he told her smoothly, "but I'm equally certain I'm the only around stubbornly pig-headed enough to not accept your gracious brush off."

"Pig-headed," Janice repeated, very obviously trying not to laugh. "I see you've been pestering Dr. McCoy again."

Jim knew he was pushing his luck but that was what he _did_, so he pulled out his most indignant expression. "I do _not_ pester! I captain!" He shrugged, not looking even a little bit bashful or apologetic. "And if I sometimes choose to captain from my chief medical officer's office—" _and annoy Bones in the process_, he didn't have to add—"it's my captainly prerogative to do so."

Janice rolled her eyes. "Of course it is, sir," she agreed, tone not unlike that of someone indulging a child.

"So—how about that dance?" he asked, his best smile back in full force.

Janice didn't have time to respond because his date (Ruth-something; shit, he'd forgotten about her) latched onto his arm and sidled up to him. "Jim, honey, you've been gone for _such _a long time," she complained, batting her lashes at him. He wondered if he'd found that attractive before because right now it just seemed _desperate_. (And annoying because he'd been in the middle of something else here, right?) She made a show of seeing Janice and gazed between them. "Oh, who's your little friend?"

Jim's mouth tightened and the look he sent his date was none too kind. She gazed back at him with nothing but utter innocence (which he knew to be a lie based on previous interactions) and he suppressed a sigh. Turning back to Janice, he saw she was wearing her 'the only reason I'm not murdering you with my shoe is because polite society demands it' smile as she waited for her introduction—or possibly to be excused.

"Ruth," he said in a forced light tone—something that hadn't been necessary only minutes early and he cursed his dumb date for ruining that, "this is Janice Rand. Janice is my yeoman." He smiled at her with his widest 'I'm James T. Kirk and you love me, remember?' grin. "She keeps me on task and organizes me life. I'd be lost without her." He meant it, too; he hoped Janice knew that. Then he added, "Janice, this is Ruth," for good measure. He hoped that made it clear who was more important there.

Janice nodded, expression unchanging and Jim pointedly did _not_ wonder why he felt guilty about this exchange. "Well, I have to be getting back," she said simply, nodding her head. "I'll see you back on board, sir." She didn't bother saying anything more to Ruth (and Jim didn't blame her—he half-wished he didn't have to himself) before heading off in the direction she'd originally been moving.

Jim spared a moment to watch her go. (And if he was appreciating how her dress hugged her figure, well, he was only _human_, after all.) Apparently Ruth didn't like that. "A _yeoman?_" she scoffed. "What, she wasn't smart enough to make it at officer school?"

And that was when Jim decided he'd had enough. "Janice Rand is one of the smartest, most dedicated members of my crew," he told her with nothing but intense sincerity. "I'm _lucky _to have her." _And not so lucky to have you_, he thought unkindly. But he pushed that feeling away and grinned again in an easy way that no longer reached his eyes, offering his arm. He couldn't leave yet without being rude and it wouldn't do to make any sort of spectacle. (A testament to just how much he respected the retiring admiral; Jim Kirk was hardly known for his discretion or polite manners, after all.) "Enough about that; how about that drink I promised you?"

That was apparently enough to placate Ruth (who he hadn't exactly asked out for her brilliant mind or strong scruples). She again melted to his side and they moved easily as a pair through the crowd. For the rest of the night she played model date but Jim couldn't forget the ugly condescension she'd shown one of his most highly regarded colleagues who just _happened_ to be an attractive woman. (Which said nothing of the look of disappointment he'd seen in Janice's eyes when she'd met his gaze before walking away; it made his stomach clench unpleasantly.)

By the time he was finally, blessedly, free again, Jim was beyond ready for the night to be over. He escorted Ruth back to her apartment but, instead of the fun night he'd been anticipating, he simply gave her a chaste good-night kiss on the cheek and took his leave. (He'd already resolved to lose her number as soon as he returned to the _Enterprise_.) And if he brought himself off later with thoughts of a blonde vision in shimmery silver as he went to bed alone_ yet_ _again_, well, he didn't care to think too hard about the whys behind it.****

 

**iii. the time he realized other people knew she was a woman**

Being the captain of the _Enterprise_ meant Jim Kirk had access to his own private dining area. But he found he preferred to eat most meals with his crew—when he wasn't relegated to working through them and snacking on whatever Janice brought to his ready room. (Which generally included more rabbit food than he would pick for himself; she had this _thing_ about health food that Bones, the traitor, fully supported.) There was a feeling of camaraderie in the mess that he enjoyed being part of. Plus, it was the perfect place to annoy Bones (one of his admittedly favorite pastimes) and catch up on the ship's gossip (one of his not-so-admittedly favorite pastimes).

It hadn't been the most exciting of days (or even weeks as they were studying a nebula for far longer than he thought strictly necessary) and Jim was happy enough to settle in for a lazy dinner before taking a little bit of personal time for himself—a fact he was telling Bones about as the pair entered the mess area. "I'm thinking of putting in a workout and then grabbing a seat at Scotty's weekly poker game that I don't know about." They always had the good booze there and it never hurt to work on his bluffing abilities.

"Mm-hmm." Bones was barely humoring him, obviously more interested in the dining options. "Why am I not surprised that you have no problem partaking in illicit activities on your own starship?"

Jim quirked a brow. "Is that a trick question?"

McCoy grunted. "Rhetorical." From somewhere on his person his comm beeped and the good doctor swore before pulling it out. "McCoy here."

Jim half-listened to his chief medical officer argue with whoever was on the other end of the communiqué as he selected some dinner for himself. When he heard Bones swear again, he glanced at him.

"I have to go. Emergency surgery—Lemli's appendix just burst." His friend cast a longing glance at Jim's tray of food. "Rain check on dinner?"

Jim nodded dismissively. "Of course, Bones." If his crew needed patching up, that obviously took precedence. The doctor offered a tight smile as he marched from the room. Not that Jim blamed him for his grumpiness—who would choose emergency surgery over dinner? (Even if that dinner _was_ replicated.)

The bad news, though, was that now Jim was without a companion for dinner. He gave the mess a once over and, catching sight of his yeoman, headed toward her. (They hadn't actually spent much time together that day, him spending his time on the bridge and her being relegated to her own office to handle the bureaucratic nonsense that kept Starfleet running.) He was all smiles as he slid into the seat across from her. "Evening, Rand."

Janice, who had been looking elsewhere, jumped a little with his arrival. "Captain!" She took a moment to collect herself. "Er, what are you doing here?"

As she still seemed a bit off-put (or maybe that was put off), Jim offered his most disarming grin. "What most people do here: I'm eating."

Ah, there was the disapproving look he knew so well. "Yes, I do believe the tray full of food was a good indicator of that," she deadpanned. "I meant what are you doing _here?_ Sitting across from me." She was pulling out a PADD from somewhere on her person. "I thought we weren't meeting again until oh-nine-hundred tomorrow…"

Jim shrugged. "We aren't." When her expectant expression didn't go away, he elaborated, "I was stood up by Bones; thought I might join you for a meal." He chuckled a little. "Why? Are you expecting a date or something?"

The way Janice was looking at him right then could only be described as pained. (Definitely not the banter he'd been aiming for.) "Well, um… yes, actually." She nodded over his shoulder to where one of the transporter crewmen—Wilson, that was his name—was hovering nearby. He seemed to be alternating between fiddling with his tray and casting them surreptitious glances.

"Oh!" If he were anyone other than James T. Kirk, he might've been embarrassed by the _faux pas_. "I'm sorry, Jay, I didn't realize." He grinned at her as he hurriedly made to stand. "You kids have a nice night."

Janice rolled her eyes (probably at least partly because she was a year his senior), but she was finally smiling genuinely. "Thank you, sir."

Collecting his tray, Jim offered Wilson a nod of apology as he moved to join Scotty and a few of his engineers for dinner instead. And if his expression was a bit more severe than his usual, well that was probably because something had unsettled his stomach. (What that something was, he didn't look too closely into. Nor did he question why it was he didn't care for Janice's date—there was just something about the cut of the man that didn't sit well with him.)

Later, when Jim had to call Janice in for an unscheduled meeting (because negotiations between the Tholians and colonists on one of the Federation planets bordering their territory were breaking down and they were the nearest starship to the area), he didn't feel too badly. Okay, it probably could've waited until morning but it _was_ important _and_ time sensitive. He needed to be fully briefed on the situation before their arrival and she was the only one he trusted to give him all the facts and get them right.

Besides, he'd given up the poker game, so it wasn't like she was the only one giving up her personal time here. (Which, okay, was not the same thing. Jim knew this intellectually but the childishly possessive part of him didn't care. He just cared that his yeoman was there to help him when he needed her. And it didn't have anything to do with how nice she'd looked and smelled that night or the special sort of smile on her face as she chatted with her date, either. Really. So he hadn't crossed the line. Honest.)

 

**iv. the time he realized how strongly he felt**

When it was all over, Jim would liken the experience to trying to command his starship drunk. But at the time? While he and assorted members of his crew were infected with whatever it was that made them all run hot—in more than one way… well, there were other things on his mind then. Other _blonde_ things.

"Always did like blondes," Jim muttered when Janice entered his ready room with a handful of PADDs for him to sign.

She glanced up, brows furrowed. "Did you say something, sir?"

His gaze was set resolutely on places that were not her face. "Hmm?" She had nice hips, really nice. And her breasts, those were nice, too. In fact, everything seemed nice. She was just really _nice_. And pretty.

Since he was otherwise engaged, he didn't notice her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Are you all right, Captain?" she asked a bit sharply.

"Bit hot," he admitted distractedly, tugging at his collar. Jim had a feeling that had more to do with who'd joined him in his ready room, though, than actual temperature.

Janice, it seemed, hadn't gotten that memo. She put down what she was holding and placed the back of her hand on his forehead in an absolutely archaic attempt to tell if he was running a fever. "Oh! You're burning up." She sounded much more sympathetic now; Jim liked that. "We should get you to Sickbay right away, sir."

That idea he liked less. And not just because Bones would probably try to stab him with a hypospray, either; no, Jim liked being in the room with her just the two of them together. Yeah, he liked that a lot. "I'm fine," he told her in an attempt to wave off her concern. "But enough about me—let's talk about you, Janice." He took one of her hands between his and made sure to look her straight in the eyes. (Sincerity: one of the key tenants of the Jim Kirk Guide to Picking Up Women.) "How are _you_ today?"

"What?" She was visible confused. "Captain, I think—"

"Jim," he corrected her with a lazy grin. "Call me Jim."

Janice fanned her face with her free hand. "I don't think—that is to say, it wouldn't be… _appropriate_, sir." Her voice grew breathier the more she spoke; Jim took that as a sign that his efforts were working.

He corrected her again: "Jim."

This time she didn't object. "Jim," she repeated back. He loved how his voice sounded leaving her mouth. In fact, he was pretty sure he loved everything about her mouth.

Except, maybe, that it wasn't near enough to _his_ mouth. "Too far away." His attention snapped to her eyes almost urgently. "Rand, I need you to be closer."

She leaned toward him, just a little. "I—"

They were interrupted by a comm. "_Captain, reports of crew members acting strangely are coming in from around the ship._" Jim frowned; as always Uhura was a complete wet blanket.

Annoyed, he answered her. "Understood." He suppressed a sigh. "I'll be on the bridge momentarily." Janice was still standing there, confused and a bit unsteady. Jim licked his lips and looked away. "The ship…" His first duty was to the _Enterprise_—would _always_ be to her. No matter how much he wished otherwise.

He realized he was still holding her hand when she gave his a squeeze. "I understand." To her credit, she sounded like she really did.

Although he desperately wanted to look at her, Jim knew he couldn't. If he did—well, what he needed to do wouldn't get done. "It's not you."

"I know," she promised.

Releasing her hand, he stood and walked to the door. He didn't turn back until there was a significant distance between them. "Say it one more time?"

Despite the troubled expression on her face, Janice tried her best to smile. (It was mostly a grimace.) "Of course—_Jim_."

He didn't smile back—didn't even make the attempt. He couldn't. He just nodded stiffly and exited to the bridge. Because he had to. He _had _to. (Something Jim continued reminding himself of over and over again, even long after Bones had cured them all of the alien contamination _de jour_. Because there was no choice, especially not while she was under his command. There just _wasn't_. And he'd always known that but now… now he _felt_ it. And that sucked infinitely more.)

 

**v. the time he realized he wanted her to be happy (regardless of his own feelings)**

Being captain of a starship, especially the fleet flagship, meant that an excessive amount of paperwork (a strictly figurative term, of course) passed over Jim Kirk's desk. Most of the time, Janice sorted through everything in such a way that he could skim and sign most of the straightforward things and she would summarize the rest, either verbally or in text, so he could decide what he wanted to do with the various requests, requisitions, etc. It was a simple system but remarkably effective. He even kept up with his mission logs in appreciation of her efforts. (Personal logs were another story.)

But on what should've been another innocuous Wednesday, Jim found something disturbing in his skim-and-sign pile: a transfer request from one Yeoman Janice Rand.

He didn't make it past the first two lines. Instead, he picked up the offending PADD and marched down to her office, letting himself in. Because this—this had to be some kind of mistake or error or joke or _something_. It _had_ to be.

Janice was visibly surprised by his unannounced visit, standing quickly. "Sir?"

Jim was too angry (or was it hurt?) to play the diplomat. He thrust the PADD at her and gave her his answer resolutely: "No."

Brows furrowed, she barely gave the PADD a glance. "Excuse me?" Her tone was warning and he knew if he didn't tread carefully, she was going to put him in his place.

Not that he cared right then. "You can't leave. I need you."

She opened her mouth then shut it again. She took a deep breath and let it out. "With all due respect, _sir_—" which was Janice-speak for, 'If you weren't my superior officer, I would be ripping you a new one right now'—"I don't think that's _your_ decision."

A valid point. Jim decided to try reasoning with her instead. "This is the _flagship_ and you're the _best_. You _deserve_ to be here." She'd earned her place here; they both knew it. "How can you—?"

Janice shook her head. "That's not your concern." She still sounded the consummate professional but her eyes were flashing; she was starting to lose her calm.

And Jim… well, he never had possessed all that much calm. Certainly not enough that he had extra to lose. "Yes it _is_, damn it! You're my—" He cut himself off because she wasn't his _anything _beyond her ship duties, disheartening though that may be. "You _can't_ leave, Rand. What am I going to do without you?"

Letting out an aggravated noise, Janice crossed her arms. "You'll get a new yeoman. You'll be _fine_, Captain."

Which was true in theory perhaps but—"They won't be _you_, Jay. You're who I need here. Don't you get that?" This was beginning to sound suspiciously like begging but Jim just couldn't bring himself to be bothered. (As if he'd had an overabundance of dignity to begin with.)

"Don't _you_ get it, sir? I _can't_ stay here!" She stamped her foot to emphasize her point, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"Why _not?_" They were both using raised voices now.

She threw up her hands in frustration. "Because!"

Jim shook his head. "That's not an answer, Yeoman."

"Because I can't do this anymore!" Janice admitted finally. "I can't spend so much time with you day in and day out and not—and not be—not _have_…" She was losing steam; he could see that, especially as she began to skillfully avoid his eyes.

"Not have _what?_" he asked carefully. (Somehow this had become an entirely different conversation.)

It was her turn to shake her head. "Stop it. Just… stop." It was the plea in her voice that hurt the most.

But he was determined and a determined Jim Kirk did not back down so easily. "Not have _what_, Janice?" he repeated, voice softer but no less urgent.

"You _know_ what," she told him miserably, still resolutely _not_ looking at him.

And that was when the insecure kid from Iowa popped up. (Jim hated him.) "I want you to say it."

Janice sighed, pulling her hair out of its perfect bun only to put it up again exactly as it had been before. (A nervous gesture if he'd ever seen one, though this was the first she'd ever showed him.) "Just… sign the forms. _Please_."

He considered her for a long moment. "Is that really what you want?" He'd do it if it was—it was only right.

"No." She finally looked at him. (The sadness was visible in her gaze and it made him sort of wish she hadn't.) "But I can't have what I want."

Jim tried to smile, but he couldn't quite get his lips to twist upward. "Come on, Jay. This thing we have going—it's good, right?" Or good _enough_ at any rate. "We work well together and…"

That was apparently when she'd had enough—again. "And what?" she snapped. "I can just keep pining, while you get to screw around with every alien priestess we run into? I don't think so, _sir_."

Straight for the jugular—he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything less when he was cornering her. He winced all the same. "That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is that you've interrupted every single date I've had since I joined this crew," Janice argued. "I know I can't have you, okay? _I get it._" And she sounded about as happy about it as he was. (Damn Starfleet and their damn regulations.) "But it's a lot harder to face that when you can have whoever you like _and_ stop me from being with anyone else!"

That gave Jim pause for a moment. "Do you want to be with someone else?"

Janice rubbed a hand tiredly over her face. "Does it really matter?"

"It does to me."

"Captain…" Her voice was wary now.

Which probably had more to do with the fact that he was moving closer to her than their incredibly circular arguing. "Jim," he corrected yet again.

This time Janice was having none of it. "_Captain_." She tried to take a step back but found a bulkhead behind her.

He stood tall over her, in her space but not _too _close. "I dream about you in that silver dress sometimes," he admitted softly. Intimate. The way he always wanted to but never could speak to her.

Janice's tongue darted out for the briefest second as she wet her lips nervously. "You can't say things like that to me, sir." There was a note of desperation in her voice, like maybe she didn't know what would happen if he _did_ say things like that to her. (Maybe she didn't.)

"I know." Jim took a step back and sighed. "I'll sign your request." He considered her for a moment and had to add, "And, for the record, I eat a lot more dinners with alien priestesses than _anything else_." His reputation had been earned in the Academy but much exaggerated since then.

The smile on Janice's face could only be described as bittersweet. "Then, for the record, I don't want to be with anyone else." Her gaze dropped to the floor, like maybe she was ashamed. "But I don't want to be _alone_, either."

Jim nodded. He couldn't blame her there—who really _wanted_ to be alone? (Besides the apparently masochistic captain of the Federation flagship.) Sure, it wasn't what he wanted to hear but it was _real_. "Okay." He stepped forward, kissing her forehead softly and turning away before he could see Janice's eyes widen with surprise. "Okay."

Then he left. There were things to be done, a ship to be run… a transfer request to be processed. (Also, Wednesdays were officially his new _least favorite_ day of the week, which was tragic because _hump day_ was ruined. He wondered if maybe that was Janice's plan all along—for the irony. He wouldn't put it past her, she had a strange sense of humor.)

(And when she left—and she did leave, far quicker than he'd expected, honestly—Jim was all politeness with generic well-wishes and a sincere, if lingering, handshake. Only Bones noticed the pained look in his eyes and the doctor actually held his tongue for once in his life. Jim appreciated that.

He appreciated it even more when Bones came to his quarters when they were both off-duty with a bottle of bourbon and drank with him until his body was numb, and he could almost forget how much everything sucked right then. _Almost_. But, even throughout his drunken ramblings about how unfair everything was and how he didn't want another yeoman because it wouldn't be _Janice_, Jim had to admit that he wanted her to be happy. Because he truly did. He just wished it could've been with him.)****

 

**vi. the time she proved if she put her mind to it, she could do anything**

James T. Kirk was not known for taking orders well. He liked to joke that was the reason they'd graduated him as a captain—that way no one had to suffer the headache he would've been for the more experienced officers on whatever ship they assigned him to. But, authority issues aside, he did have the utmost respect for Admiral Christopher Pike. That was probably why he was tasked with informing Jim of Federation mandates, forcible transfers, etc. (Or maybe he just wanted to stay as close to the _Enterprise_ as he could from a wheelchair on Earth. No one was ever entirely sure with Pike.)

The _Enterprise_ was docked at Starbase 16 for routine maintenance and upgrades when Pike broke the latest over subspace communiqué. They were assigning a JAG attorney to his ship. His ship! Jim was not pleased. (Because, seriously, how was adding a lawyer to the mix ever good for anyone?)

"Now that we've signed those non-aggression treaties with the Romulans and made some real headway with rebuilding the fleet, you're going to be taking the _Enterprise_ out into the unknown, Jim," Pike explained. "And that means there won't be anywhere to go if someone gets court martialed or is accused of breaking Federation law—or if a Federation citizen is accused of breaking alien law. The lieutenant being assigned will handle those things, assist security in any ongoing investigations being conducted and make certain the rights of all personnel are being maintained."

Jim's eyes narrowed at the image of the Admiral on his screen. "I don't care what the rationale is; I don't want a lawyer on my ship. I don't want every mission to be under the scrutiny of Federation law as its progressing. You know how it is out here—sometimes diplomacy works and sometimes the rules have to be stretched and bent. You'll be tying my hands!"

Pike shook his head. "You can't get out of this one, Jim. The JAG corps wants this trial program and yours is the ship they picked." Which, Jim could admit (grudgingly and only to himself), did make the most sense. Pike smiled. "Don't worry—I made sure the officer selected had field experience in the fleet outside of the corps. I'm positive your new lieutenant won't stop you from doing your job."

To his credit, he did sound confident. And Jim trusted Admiral Pike with his life; owed it to him a couple times over, too. (And vice versa.) "Fine. But I will be lodging a formal complaint. More than one if even one of my crew suffers unnecessarily over the bureaucracy of the law."

There was laughter in Pike's eyes as he smirked. "Don't you think you should meet her first?"

"Her?" For the first time since receiving the news, Jim stopped scowling.

Now the Admiral did laugh, shaking his head again. "Take care of my ship, Mr. Kirk. Pike out." Then the screen went dark, save the Starfleet symbol in the center.

Jim punched a few keys and was scrolling through recent orders for the formal paperwork on the JAG transfer when his door chimed. "Enter," he muttered without looking up.

The doors swished open just as he found what he was looking for. Jim was pulling up the file when his visitor spoke, "Permission to come aboard?" That voice—he knew that voice. Instantly the task at hand was forgotten and Jim's eyes snapped to the center of his ready room. He blinked a few times, not quite certain if this was a waking dream or hallucination or—"Sir?"

Shaking himself free of his stupor, Jim stood. He was grinning stupidly, he could feel it, but didn't care just then. "Permission granted." He moved around his desk to give her a hug. (Not strictly appropriate, he supposed but it'd been too long—and she was still beautiful. So beautiful. He couldn't help himself.) "Rand? What are you doing here?"

Janice was caught off-guard by his question. "What? Didn't Admiral Pike—?" She shook her head, an annoyed smirk on her face. "Lieutenant Janice Rand reporting for duty." She even stood at attention.

"Lieutenant?" Jim was more than a little surprised. Being an officer aside, he would've expected her to still be an ensign. "Since when?"

"Since I joined the JAG corps," she replied easily.

Well, that explained how she'd risen through the ranks so quickly. "Since you—" Jim stopped suddenly, his smile growing _even wider_. "_You're_ the lawyer joining my ship?"

Janice was hiding a smile, he was certain. "That I am."

Not for the first time, Jim wondered if Chris Pike had some kind of life plan for him. He wouldn't put it past the man. Still—"How is that even possible?" It just didn't add up in his mind.

"It has been almost three years since I left, sir. I had to find _something _to do with myself," she pointed out dryly. Jim just stared until Janice rolled her eyes. "You never did read my transfer request, did you?" He was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question.

Still, Jim actually looked a little abashed. "Er, no."

She shook her head. "When I finished my humanities degree via subspace transmissions and independent study, I applied for officer candidacy school—and law school. _That's_ what I was transferred back to Earth for."

And now Jim felt like an ass. Awesome. Figured that'd be the first thing Janice did upon her return. "Ah."

She rolled her eyes again. "You're a piece of work, Jim Kirk." There was amusement in her voice, though.

He took that as his cue and grinned again. "Hey—you called me by my name."

Smiling, Janice shrugged. "Well, it doesn't feel so wrong now that you're not my CO."

Right. Because, as a member of the JAG corps, she wasn't technically under his command. And if she wasn't under his command, then technically she wasn't off-limits to him anymore. Jim decided to test those waters: "Does that mean I can tell you I still think about that silver dress sometimes now?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively in an effort to keep the moment light. (He didn't want to make her uncomfortable if the answer was no.)

"Well, you are still my superior officer…" Janice actually sounded a little shy, something he'd never heard before, "but I don't mind." He found he liked the blush on her cheeks.

Jim smiled, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I've missed you, Jay," he told her with quiet sincerity.

She looked up at him, touching the side of his face gently. "I've missed you, too, Jim."


End file.
